


The Calm After The Storm

by antigrav_vector



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Noir
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Comic Book Science, Crossover, Identity Issues, Implied Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: In the process of trying to recover an artifact, Tony accidentally ends up rescuing a man from Baron Zemo. This... has consequences. For both of them.





	The Calm After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing on in my posting of Winteriron fic this month, I present this little thing. I'd intended to post it before the Bangs, but, well, RL got in the way.
> 
> Beta read by the steadfast [dapperanachronism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism). <3

The unintelligible chanting that echoed through the Aztec temple to reach him was an unpleasant surprise. Tony bit back a groan. Why did his luck always seem to run bad? Somehow every trip he went on seemed to end in him running into these kinds of complications.

The echoes of the words overlapped, turning it into a din of sound, and Tony strained to work out what language was being used. This was bound to be some kind of blood ritual, judging by the location the celebrants had picked -- the Aztecs had been infamous for such, throughout history, and still were -- but the ritualists' goal was impossible for Tony to determine without more information.

Tony crept carefully down the short stone corridor separating him from the larger space the chanting was coming from. The ritual seemed to be taking place in front of the main altar of the temple, if he was any judge. The previously pleasant coolness of the stone, which had been a relief after the unrelenting heat of the tropical sun and the humidity of the jungle, suddenly sent chills down his spine as a frisson of true unease went through him.

If he could work out the language, and the meaning of the chant, he might be able to find a way to interrupt the ritual without any consequences to himself. Ideally, he'd be able to also save the blood sacrifice, whoever it was. These sorts of rituals were almost guaranteed to require the death of a person, and frequently they also wanted a virgin. The death was what provided the magical energy to power the ritual, and people were one of the most powerful sources. He'd come across a few rituals that used animals, but those had a correspondingly lower payoff.

They were generally also significantly less dangerous and less prone to going wrong.

Reaching the end of the corridor and faced with the necessity of making a decision on how to deal with the ritualists, Tony inched closer, careful to be as silent as possible. He didn't want to announce his presence before he was prepared to act. And when he acted, he would have to get it right the first time. He was on his own -- he and all his friends had expected this to be an unsuccessful trip right from the start, but Fury had insisted that they make it, so the rest of his team was waiting for him in the airship -- and what had seemed like a harmless enough decision now left Tony at a big tactical disadvantage.

There was no time to go back for help, though. Not if he wanted to have a chance of stopping the ritual and playing hero to whatever damsel was about to die. He had no radio, and even if he'd been carrying one, using it to call for help would have given him away instantly, the way sound carried in the temple.

Peering cautiously into the room where the ritual was taking place, Tony had to bite back a savage desire to swear and curse. Baron Zemo and Gialetta stood off to one side of a circle of HYDRA scientists who were wearing their usual white lab coats. The scientists were the ones chanting, standing just outside an arcane diagram that they'd painstakingly drawn on the stone floor in white chalk.

In the center of the intricate diagram, which wasn't one Tony wasn't familiar with, lay a man, either unconscious or drugged silly. A system of pulleys held a wickedly sharp blade suspended over the man in the center of the diagram. Said blade was mounted to the bottom of a large weight, implying that they'd drop it when they were done chanting. Worse, the lack of guide rails for the blade or the weight implied strongly that they didn't care if it struck true or just maimed the man lying beneath it.

The language of the chant was still an unknown, even this close. Most of the echoes were mitigated since he was in the same room, but the words of the chant sounded entirely off, to Tony. As though made up out of whole cloth.

The man in the center of the diagram twitched like a landed fish as Tony finished the thought, and cried out in pain.

Swallowing back his apprehension as best he could, Tony readied his pair of holstered pistols. He had to stop this ritual before they reached the end, and killed an innocent. In this situation waiting was unlikely to pay off.

Tony stood, planning his shots -- there were ten chanting scientists plus Zemo and Gialetta, and he had twelve shots that he could fire before he had to reload -- and his escape route if he needed one. There was no cover in the wide open room besides the low stone altar, so he would have nowhere to hide. The altar was too far from his position to be useful as cover if someone started shooting back at him, and the odds that someone would were very high. Gialetta was guaranteed to be armed, even if no one else was. And that was leaving aside the fact that he moment he fired the first shot, they would know he was there, and then they would be coming for him.

He took aim carefully, choosing to try for a through-and-through shot to the calf of the scientist nearest to his position. He'd do the same for the others, if he could. Tony disliked killing.

The shot, when he fired a short eternity later, was deafening in the confines of the temple. The scientist went down with a pained scream, clutching at his leg, but the others continued chanting without missing a beat.

Gialetta and Zemo turned as one to look at him, shocked into stillness.

Tony used his next two bullets on them. Gialetta went down with a shriek of mingled pain and rage, her hands around her thigh, but Zemo didn't react even though the shot met its mark. Instead, he charged at Tony with an angry growl that went almost unheard over the continued chanting.

Caught off guard, Tony took another shot, this time at Zemo's shoulder.

He knew it had hit, but Zemo ignored that wound, too, and then he was too close for Tony to aim a third time. Hastily holstering the gun, Tony dodged. Tucking himself into a roll and getting the hell out of arm's reach -- he did _not_ want to be stuck in a fistfight if he could avoid it -- Tony heard the guy in the ritual circle scream in a way that sent a visceral shudder of sympathetic agony through him.

The smell of blood filled the room and Tony wanted to vomit.

Shit.

Whatever had happened, the guy in the ritual circle was probably mortally wounded. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, and faced Zemo squarely as the room seemed to go dark for all that what little light there was stayed on. A new presence filled the space.

Zemo immediately turned his focus to the new presence. "All hail."

"Hail," the circle of white coated ritualists echoed in unison, the sound oddly hollow.

"Who summons Xiquatl?"

The voice ran down Tony's spine in a series of shivers and goosebumps. It wasn't angry or malevolent. Yet.

No one seemed to give a damn about the man bleeding out on the floor.

Tony carefully didn't look at him; he didn't need the distraction of worrying about the horrific injury the man had sustained at the moment. He could deal with the man's survival once he'd stopped Zemo's plan from working. This Xiquatl was an Aztec god, albeit a relatively minor lesser known one. He knew that much. He'd come across the name before while researching other artifacts. But he didn't have any detailed knowledge of exactly what the god could do or what his temperament was like.

While Tony wracked his brain, Zemo spoke to the being. "I, Zemo, have summoned you for the glory of HYDRA. With your assistance, O God of Triumph, we will rule the world, and all will worship at your altar."

The room went chilly. "You lie."

Tony saw his chance. "HYDRA always does," he put in. "Getting involved in their schemes always ends badly." That got him the full attention of whatever had been summoned. Tony got the impression of a thoughtful hum from Xiquatl and an enraged scream from Zemo who tried to attack him again.

Tried. Something froze Zemo in his tracks, holding him fast, and silencing him.

"If you can see through to truth and lies," Tony soldiered on, "surely you see that agreeing to this bargain would be a mistake. HYDRA might triumph with your assistance, but they would abuse it and take advantage."

"You believe what you say," Xiquatl said, and it seemed like there was the vague outline of a woman to be seen hovering in the air above the ritual circle.

Tony knew better than to assume she was confined to the circle. "I do."

There was a brief silence, then Xiquatl nodded as though she'd reached a decision. Zemo collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut. The ritualists did as well, a moment later.

"No!" Tony couldn't help his surprised and dismayed exclamation. It might be another man wearing his father's body under that ugly mask, but he couldn't help himself. He still couldn't separate the two in his mind. 

"You are merciful even to your enemies," Xiquatl noted sounding both distant and pleased. "Rest easy; they yet live, and will recall nothing of this day. I am displeased with their attempt to enslave me, but not enough that they must die. You I will grant a boon. Choose wisely. I do not tolerate fickleness." 

Tony shuddered. What to even ask for? Something he would never regret. That was sure to be what Xiquatl meant by fickleness. It had to be something that he would never change his mind about. There were very few things he could imagine never regretting, some more impossible than others.

"May I ask for several things in one request?" He asked carefully, an idea forming.

"Ahhh," Xiquatl sounded pleased again. "You show true nobility of character. Yes. Ask."

Of course she could read minds as well as see truth and belief. Tony repressed a shudder. "The boon I would ask is the man's life that was used as an offering, if that is allowed, and my own, for I have a mortal injury that cannot heal. The man who attempted to enslave you... was once my father, before HYDRA twisted him. I would have him restored."

"Two of those requests I can grant," Xiquatl replied, a half-smile gracing her features, "but I have no skill in repairing mind or memory."

As she finished her sentence, the god disappeared from sight.

"Defend the defender and rescue the rescuer, only then shall you find true healing." Her voice echoed in the room, and Tony would have puzzled over the meaning of that sentence but then he saw much of the blood on the floor vanish, as well, as the sacrifice's eyes opened. He sat up with a start, and only then did Tony realise that the guy's arm -- which had been severed -- was reattached to him, and was covered in gleaming metal plate armour from the shoulder down.

"What just happened?" The sacrifice asked, focusing on him, as the only person in the room still standing. Tony was a bit stunned to hear American accented English. Midwest tinged with New York.

Tony, still trying to work out for himself just what to think of the whole mess, shrugged. "Does it matter? We're alive."

The sacrifice snorted. "Guess you've got a point. Got a name?"

"Call me Tony."

"My friends call me Bucky." Bucky looked down at his new arm and wriggled his fingers. "I got you to thank for this, don't I?"

"In a manner of speaking. Come on, let's get out of here and I'll tell you all about it." Tony carefully bit back the slightly jealous words on his tongue; Bucky had clearly been healed, albeit in a rather unorthodox way, but he didn't feel any different.

\------

Getting Bucky back aboard the airship had been easy, physically. Less easy, logistically. Pepper, Rhodey, and Jarvis had taken one look at him and started in on Tony. 

Who was this? Why was he here? Where had he come from? Had something happened in the temple? Why hadn't Tony called for them?

Summarising what had happened for his friends, Tony gave them enough detail to answer their questions, and tried to keep it succinct enough that they wouldn't be standing around for hours.

Bucky had had his own questions when the inquisition had finally relaxed. "So... Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

Pepper raised an eloquent eyebrow at Tony. "You glossed over that, as usual, did you?"

"Well, excuse me." Tony groaned. "I wanted to get us both out of there before anything else went wrong."

Rhodey huffed. "The boss is notorious for his ability to attract trouble," he told Bucky, then held out a hand for Bucky to shake. "I guess introductions are in order. James Rhodes. Call me Rhodey or Jim."

"James Barnes," Bucky offered in return and took the hand without hesitation, "but call me Bucky."

Tony saw Pepper and Jarvis relax. It was always a bit of a gamble to introduce Rhodey to newcomers. While they and Tony didn't give a damn about skin color, many others did. They'd had guests and temporary allies take offense to working with Rhodey, before.

The others gave their names, too, and then Bucky turned to Tony. "And you? You just gave me a first name, before."

Pepper laughed. "That, Bucky, is the infamous Mr. Tony Stark of Marvels Magazine."

Bucky's eyes went round. "What?" He blurted, then went a bit pink and cleared his throat awkwardly. "What is Marvels Magazine?"

"I publish the adventures I go on," Tony told Bucky, raising an eyebrow at him, then added with a grin, "such at this one. Any other questions?"

It took Bucky a moment to get back the thread of the conversation. "Well, you've told me what you saw in that temple and what that god said -- and I'm still not sure I believe you about that -- but I still don't know how I got there or what to do next. I've suddenly got this armour on my arm that instinct tells me won't come off. It doesn't feel any different from before I had the armour."

Now that was an interesting tidbit. "You can still feel things you touch with it? That's amazing." Tony was sure the wonder in his voice had to be clear to hear.

Pepper gave him a wry look. "Worry about that later, Mr. Stark," she said firmly. "First, let's finish this discussion, and then I think Mr. Barnes might appreciate the chance to sack out for a few hours."

The remaining questions Bucky had for them were fairly straightforward. What were their plans? Where were they headed from here? How could he pitch in?

Tony deduced that Bucky didn't like owing anyone anything, if he could avoid it. And he owed Tony his life.

It was a slightly awkward realisation.

They dispersed not long after.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I'll bet you want a shower and something clean to sleep in." Rhodey took Bucky off to show him to a bunk and find him some spare clothes he could wear to replace the ragged and bloodstained shirt and trousers he wore. They were ruined.

\------

The remainder of the trip back to New York was uneventful, luckily for Tony's nerves and Bucky's. After his story, Jarvis had insisted on checking Tony over and making sure the repulsor pump was operating correctly.

To both their relief, it was perfectly fine for all that its outward appearance had been transmuted, surprising both of them. Rather than the smooth metal and glass he and Jarvis had been maintaining for years, its surface was segmented and articulated steel now, and looked much like Bucky's arm did. But nothing else had been changed, so Jarvis topped up the charge, and then sent Tony off to bed, too.

He ended up lying on his bed, wide awake, and staring at his ceiling for several hours, until Jarvis had pounded on the door to call him to dinner. What Tony had managed wasn't rest, exactly, and it sure wasn't sleep, but he did feel better afterwards, for all that he came to no new conclusions about what had happened in the temple despite his best efforts to wring some more details out of his memory. The deity's parting words continued to ring through his mind, leaving him with many more questions than answers. _"Defend the defender and rescue the rescuer, only then shall you find true healing."_

Given that his repulsor pump was still part of him, he took that to mean that he needed to fulfill Xiquatl's conditions somehow before he could remove it. But who was he supposed to defend? How? Was there a time limit? Did that mean he needed to defend or rescue Rhodey, Pepper and Jarvis somehow? Did their assistance in getting home make them his defenders? They'd certainly defended him before, but he wasn't sure that counted.

Late that evening, they stopped in Miami to refuel the airship. They reached New York at 8am the next morning.

Tony (reluctantly) let Bucky leave for his own home, but not before he extracted a promise that Bucky would come by the mansion on 5th and let him examine the metal arm more closely. Despite the short time Bucky had spent with them, it had felt like he'd slotted into place on the airship perfectly. As though he'd been working with them for years instead of hours. Tony knew he'd miss the man, despite the brevity of their acquaintance.

\------

Tony got his wish sooner than he'd expected. Bucky had shown up a few hours later, looking a bit sheepish and more than a little bit stressed. Jarvis had evidently let him in, and directed him to the library.

"Funny story," he opened, the moment he spotted Tony. "My apartment has a new occupant. I've apparently been gone long enough that I've been declared dead."

Tony blinked. "Say that again? I thought you told me you'd been taken yesterday."

"That's what I thought too." The strain in Bucky's eyes seemed to deepen. "None of my friends live there anymore, either, and people keep telling me they died years ago of old age or moved across the country, or who knows what crazy story. They told me Steve disappeared an joined the army, and I know that's nonsense; they wouldn't have taken the kid in a thousand years with all the health problems he has -- had."

"You okay?" Tony stood and put a steadying hand on Bucky's organic shoulder.

"Didn't know where else to go. I ain't got money or a place to stay, all of a sudden."

Huffing at him, Tony steered him toward a chair. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. For now, you're accepting a guest bedroom. No arguments, there's plenty of space here. And after you recover from the trip home and your arm properly, we're going to the banks to shake your money loose."

Bucky shuddered, but relaxed slowly. "I hope you got a good lawyer on call, then. Gettin' back a dead man's money a generation or two late might be tough."

\------

Bucky turned out to be entirely correct about the money. The bank Bucky had been using -- they'd established it had been almost fifty years ago -- had simply kept the money, leaving it to gather interest, but locked down all withdrawals and more or less made it entirely inaccessible.

The thing about it that annoyed them both was that, had Bucky had some kind of proof of who he was, they probably could have straightened everything out far faster. As it was, it took them a month, three lawyers, and a long series of increasingly difficult conversations with any number of officials to get Bucky the identification he needed to get to his account. There wasn't much in it, but it was enough of a sum to loosen a lot of the tension in Bucky's shoulders.

"Guess I can finally get out of your hair," he commented as they left the bank together for the last time.

The idea hurt a lot more than Tony had expected it to. He shrugged it off as best he could. "If that's what you want," he agreed.

"Look, Stark," Bucky told him, his tone serious, "I owe you more than I can ever repay already. I'm not lookin' to make that total higher."

"I have told you more times than I care to count. _Consider it a gift_. You know damned well that what little expense you incur is one I don't even feel. I do not expect you to replay a dime. And if you choose to stay," Tony tried to keep the mix of hope and fear out of his voice, "I never will. You fall into the same category as Rhodes or Pepper. Or Jarvis."

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

Tony didn't.

It took Bucky a few stunned moments to get himself moving again, and when he did, he hurried to catch up. Falling back into step with Tony, he asked breathlessly, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"What do you think it means?" Tony didn't give an inch.

Bucky considered that for a beat. "Let's discuss the details where we have a bit of privacy," he suggested.

It wasn't long before Jarvis was letting them into the Mansion and then Bucky firmly pushed him into the library and shut the door behind them.

A heavy silence fell between them as Bucky watched him. Tony fought not to squirm under the scrutiny. He knew Bucky had guessed the truth.

Eventually Bucky spoke again. "So, correct me if I'm wrong," he said carefully, "I don't much like getting punched."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

Bucky cleared his throat. "I know you consider Jarvis, Pepper, and Rhodes family."

It wasn't, strictly, a question. Tony shrugged. "I do, yes."

"So when you say I fall into the same category, what does that mean?"

It meant he wanted to invite Bucky into his bed but felt wrong doing so when he held all the cards. Not that he was going to say so outright. "Exactly what you think it means. You fit in perfectly with the rest of them from the first day you met them, like a missing puzzle piece. They would miss you if you left to go your own way, and so would I," Tony answered. "That's not what you thought I'd punch you over, is it?"

Bucky watched him shrewdly for a beat. "You're hedging. What are you trying to avoid saying?"

Tony bit back the wince. Bucky was a perceptive man, and Tony occasionally forgot that, rather to his own dismay. "I don't much like getting punched," he pointedly turned Bucky's words back on him.

Bucky's expression went speculative and almost warm. He stepped in close until they were chest-to-chest and nearly touching. In the small space between them, he said, "Then you won't mind if I do this."

Tony grabbed the invitation with both hands, metaphorically and literally. His hands came up to the nape of Bucky's neck and his fingers twined into the lovely soft hair there. "Why would I mind, exactly?"

Bucky huffed at him and leaned in to kiss him solidly.

When they broke apart what felt like an eternity later, Bucky's metal hand traced a delicate line up the side of Tony's neck, making him shiver. Both of them were breathing harder and deeper than normal, and Tony gleefully noted that Bucky was very much 'up' to the challenge.

"Now that we've established that," Tony said, once he'd found his grip on grammar and words again, "we should perhaps adjourn to my bedroom."

Bucky laughed at him. "Another day, Stark. You might move that fast, but I don't."

Tony pouted back, letting himself be as outrageous as he pleased. "Well, alright, but don't expect me to be happy about the delay. I'm rich, you know. I'm used to getting everything I want, when I want it."

"Try the other leg. In the past month I've seen you hunt down more dead-end leads than I care to count on whatever that artifact is you're after next. You have a lot more patience than that." Bucky gave him a knowing look.

Perceptive bastard. Tony shot back a wry half-smile and very deliberately adjusted himself in his pants. "Doesn't mean I like waiting for things if I don't have to."

\------

Life passed as quietly as it ever did for the next four months or so. Then, not quite half a year after Bucky had fallen into their lives, things went a bit sideways.

Tony stared around the lab he'd ended up in, and took a deep shaking breath.

Somehow Zemo had gotten wind of his latest treasure hunt -- an amber necklace that supposedly contained portions of the Brisingamen -- and set up a trap for him. He and Pepper had walked right into it, too, a bit too confident in their sources. Tony made a mental note to round them up and hand them over to Nick Fury, if he got out of this alive.

He and Pepper had been separated immediately, and a gleefully vicious Gialetta had presided over his transport to this place. Gialetta had dismissed Pepper as insignificant, luckily, and simply assigned some of her henchmen to escort Pepper to a cell who knew where. Tony hoped it was in the same compound he had been brought to. Gialetta herself had supervised the men who'd very carefully and securely tied Tony's hands.

Tony had been vindictively pleased to see that she had a slight limp.

Less satisfying was that he hadn't been able to see where he'd been taken. They'd hooded him with a burlap sack that smelled strongly of rotten potatoes, and hustled him into some kind of wheeled vehicle as he tried to breath through his mouth so as not to gag.

The henchmen hadn't been overly gentle with him. Presumably on Gialetta's orders.

_A woman scorned_ , Tony thought to himself with a rueful smirk tugging at his lips.

When they'd finally taken the hood off his head, Tony had been securely strapped to a hard table. Only once they were sure he was tightly tied, had they searched him. In the process, he'd lost two sets of lock picks, a knife, and his pistol.

Once the henchmen decided he had been relieved of his means of escape, they'd left. Gialetta stayed behind and waited until they had privacy before she approached him.

"So, Tony, darling," she drawled as she stepped up to the side of the table. "I guess we're even, now, aren't we?"

Tony huffed. "I don't know about that. The first time you tricked me, and betrayed me. A few months ago you tried to kill me. Now you've handed me to the man who holds your leash, like good little hunting dog, and will watch him torture me until he kills me or wipes my personality right out of my head. All I've done is injure you a little."

Gialetta laughed uproariously. "Oh Tony, you've always been _so_ naive. Thinking that honor and fair play exist is a logical fallacy."

Tony couldn't help but think of Bucky. Who was generally honest and kind, and played fair in every arena but the bedroom.

Before he could find the words to express the thought properly, though, Gialetta's laughter ended abruptly, and she sobered. "You're right about one thing. The good Baron will make you the next Zemo, and you will hereafter fight for the glory of Hydra. And there is no one here to interfere, this time. Your beloved Rhodes and Jarvis are far from here none the wiser, and we have your little chronicler secured as well."

Without a pause, Gialetta strode out the door the moment she was through speaking, tossing over he shoulder, "Get some rest while you can, darling."

\------

Left at loose ends, with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling tiles, Tony thought. He thought about Rhodes and Jarvis, left without news and wondering what had happened. He thought about Pepper, probably well-secured -- Gialetta was no fool -- and spitting mad. He thought about Bucky, on the airship with Rhodes and Jarvis, and fought back the emotion that rose to choke him.

Bucky.

Tony had thought it would be nothing more than a short fling. No one had ever wanted more than a night or three with him. His relationships were always short lived things, driven by his partners' curiousity or their lust after his money. Bucky, he'd thought, would be much the same.

But he wasn't. Bucky was a man displaced in time through means the two of them had yet to discover. He had never heard of Tony Stark, or Marvels Magazine, before they'd made their initial introductions aboard the airship six months ago. He hadn't had a clue that Tony was stone rich, or the heir to his father's weapons manufacturing company.

Bucky had simply seen him. Tony.

And somehow, that had been enough to entice Bucky into bed. He'd liked _Tony_ enough to risk having a relationship. Hell, he'd more or less insisted on it, insisted that it be more than a simple roll between the sheets.

Once Tony had realised that, he'd been done for. He'd known then and there that no other relationship he ever managed to start could ever measure up to this. He'd liked Bucky right from the first minute he'd truly had a chance to talk to the man, and that had only intensified over time.

_Just call it what it is, Stark,_ he told himself. _You're head over heels for the fella._

He couldn't be sure, without a rather awkward discussion, but he thought Bucky might return the sentiment.

\------

The lights in the lab were always on, and there were no windows to the outside world, so Tony had no idea how much time had passed, but he thought it might have been morning when Zemo strolled in with a passel of white-coated men following on his heels. They carried trays covered in filled syringes and various cruel-looking implements.

Tony swallowed, a flash of true fear and dread going through him and leaving him uncomfortably warm.

Zemo looked him over, from head to toe, and nodded. "Begin," was all he told his scientists.

As the group of men hurried off to the lab benches lining the sides of the room to make their preparations, Zemo took up a position between Tony and the door of the lab. Stony silence held for a minute. Tony refused to acknowledge the man.

"Come now, son," Zemo said, his cruel smile audible, "I thought you always wanted to be just like your old man."

Tony shuddered. "Not at the cost of myself or my humanity."

"So be it," Zemo shrugged. He turned to the scientists. "Are you ready?"

"Another minute please, Baron," one of them answered.

With a vaguely dissatisfied grunt, the Baron accepted that. Before he could say anything about the perceived delay, though, an explosion shuddered through the walls and floor of the room.

Swearing a blue streak, Zemo pulled a pistol out of his costume somewhere and aimed at the doorway. At almost the same moment, the door fell off its hinges and onto the floor of the lab with a loud crash.

Zemo fired, the muzzle of his pistol at chest-height.

Whoever had been on the far side of the door had been prepared for that, though. A figure tumbled into the room, tucked into a roll, then came up to one knee, and fired back.

Tony recognized the person even before his face was visible. He'd seen Bucky execute that move before, on several of the adventures they'd gone on together in the last six months.

Zemo fired again, and this time, the shot bounced off Bucky's metal arm. " _You!_ " he growled, clearly recognizing Bucky from that failed ceremony six months ago.

"Yeah, me." Bucky growled and shot at him again.

Tony had been pretty sure that the shot had met its mark, but Zemo showed no sign of feeling the hit at all. He hadn't on that day that Tony had managed to snatch Bucky from the jaws of death, either. Something was a bit fishy, here. But what? He thought frantically as Zemo charged at his lover.

"You took my home," Bucky went on after he evaded Zemo's attempt to close with him, "you took my family, and you took my identity. Then you tried to take my arm and one of the people I care about most in this new world you dumped me into. I ain't about to allow that without a fight."

The words reminded Tony that he ought to be at least trying to get free. He fought to wriggle at least one hand out of his bindings. Bucky was right. 

Baron Zemo chuckled nastily. "Maybe so, but I have the upper hand here. You are alone and your _beloved_ ," the word came out as a sneer, "Tony is... a bit tied up at the moment." He turned to the scientists huddling in a corner of the room and hoping no one noticed them long enough to shoot at them. "Start the injections! I will deal with this intruder."

Tony drew as deep a breath as he could against the wide leather belt securing his midsection to the table.

The scientists a bit tentatively approached the table, clearly unsure whether Zemo's wrath would be worse than Bucky's, but they obeyed orders. Tony kind of wished they hadn't, for obvious reasons.

In the moment before they reached the table Tony was strapped to, more explosions shook the lab, sending them staggering.

Bucky weathered the shock perfectly, in contrast. As though he'd expected it. He caught Zemo's eyes. "Think you can handle me _and_ the cavalry?"

Zemo growled and pulled a second pistol of his own, firing with both. Bucky was already moving by the time Zemo had brought the pistols to bear, though, ducking and rolling behind the nearest cover. Two of the scientists dove for the floor as well, worried that they'd end up caught in the crossfire.

Bucky, when he popped up again, took a moment to fire at the scientists instead, himself. He caught most of them in nonlethal points like the muscle just above elbows or knees, incapacitating rather than killing. One of them ducked in the wrong direction when he saw Bucky's aim shift to him, and took a bullet to the throat instead.

He went down with a wet gurgling sound and Tony winced.

So did Bucky.

The flinch nearly cost him his own life, as Zemo fired again. The magazine on the first pistol clicked empty, and Zemo tossed it aside. Tony had forgotten to count the shots, so the action caught him off guard.

"Tony," Bucky called out to him as the lab shook again, "you alright?"

"For now," he replied, wishing he could get free, but he was well and truly pinned down and Bucky wouldn't have the leisure to get him free until he'd dealt with Zemo. It would be up to Bucky to finish the fight. "Can't get loose. This one's all you."

Bucky swore. Zemo took a few more shots, but Bucky dodged or blocked each one with his metal arm.

When the second pistol ran out of ammunition as well, Zemo flung it aside and simply charged Bucky again, screaming, "I will finish you!"

Zemo's habit of relying on his henchmen -- who were apparently too busy dealing with the source of the explosions to come to his aid -- showed in his sloppy hand-to-hand technique. Howard had been a passable boxer, in his day, but it appeared that knowledge had been burned out along with the rest of his father, Tony noted a bit distantly.

Bucky took advantage of the first opening in Zemo's guard and landed a lovely right hook to Zemo's jaw with his armoured left fist.

Zemo went down like a sack of bricks, and stayed there.

Bucky kicked him a few times for good measure, then turned to Tony and carefully stepped around the large puddle of blood on the floor around the dead scientist. "Let's get you out of there," he said. "Jarvis and Rhodes are getting Pepper."

Looking around at the carnage, Tony swallowed against the bile rising in his throat and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

In their hurried escape from the lab, wherever it was, Tony never noticed the changes to his body. He did notice the changes to Bucky's. The metal arm around his waist suddenly had a lot more give to it and was blood warm. When he looked down, as they waited for Jarvis and Rhodes to emerge with Pepper, what he saw confirmed his suspicions. Bucky had his arm back.

Bucky, himself, seemed not to have noticed the change.

Tony took it on himself to point it out. "Bucky?"

"Hmm?" Bucky pulled him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him and buried his nose in Tony's hair.

"Look at your hand."

Bucky didn't move. "What about it? Feels fine."

"Exactly. _Look at your hand._ "

With a slightly put upon noise that clearly telegraphed that he would rather not have moved, Bucky did. Tony knew exactly when Bucky realised what he had meant. "Holy--"

"Yeah."

The words of the god who'd saved both of them, Xiquatl, Tony remembered after groping after the name for a beat, drifted back up out of his memory: _"Defend the defender and rescue the rescuer, only then shall you find true healing."_

"My God," Tony muttered, and brought a hand slowly up to his chest, running it over the fabric of his shirt.

He _couldn't feel the repulsor pump_.

It took all of his self-control not to strip off his shirt then and there to check properly. His eyes met Bucky's a moment later, and he knew Bucky could read the truth in his expression.

Bucky's own features went through a few contortions before settling on something that approximated worry. Or maybe panic. "Tony?"

He didn't let Tony say a word in answer, simply pulling Tony close again and running his hands over clothes and skin. Checking him over for injuries, Tony realised, as those hands ran over his chest and stopped dead.

"It's gone," Bucky breathed in what sounded like awe.

Tony nodded, swallowing against the emotion trying to close his throat. "It's gone. And so is yours."

Bucky started to shake, little shudders that ran from the crown of his head all the way to his toes, so Tony pulled him into a hug and held him tight. It was his turn to comfort his lover, it appeared. Bucky tucked his face into the curve of Tony's neck, a sound that was very nearly a sob going through him.

"You know," he commented quietly, running one hand up and down Bucky's back, attempting to comfort his clearly shaken lover, "I was starting to wonder if that god who saved us just didn't know what they were doing and fixed us up with metal that we'd have to carry around all our lives." Bucky shifted in his arms, trying and failing to pull Tony tighter against him. Tony threaded his fingers into Bucky's hair supporting his head, and went on, "Not that having a metal arm or a metal plate in one's chest would even be so bad. Unusual, sure. But I'd have been content with that. Now we can say that we survived that encounter and came out the more whole for it."

Bucky made a disbelieving sound, then replied, his voice hoarse. "Shut up, Tony. I don't give a damn about any of that. Let's just enjoy the calm after the storm."

Tony chuckled at him, and, of course, that was the moment the others appeared in the doors they'd exited themselves a mere five minutes ago.

Rhodes let out an exaggerated relieved sigh. "Good, you're both in one piece. Let's get out of here and go home."


End file.
